


Pillow Talk

by sancallisto



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sancallisto/pseuds/sancallisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It should surprise no one that William Darcy is the master of pillow talk. Well, maybe it would be surprising that William Darcy is the master of anything involving talk. So I take back my assumption and offer you this new insight.</p><p>William Darcy is, indeed, the master of pillow talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pillow Talk

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened in about the span of two hours tonight. I don't know why.
> 
> I didn't mean for this to be in first person either. Or to write this on an iPad mini...which is really hard!

 

 

 

**Pillow Talk**

 

It should surprise no one that William Darcy is the master of pillow talk. Well, maybe it would be surprising that William Darcy is the master of _anything_  involving talk. So I take back my assumption and offer you this new insight.

 

William Darcy is, indeed, the master of pillow talk. 

 

Do I need to offer insight into what pillow talk actually is? I just...I've learned that it's rather damaging for people to rely on assumptions, so I want to be crystal clear. 

 

I don't want anyone to think improperly of the good Mr. Darcy. Because, well, he's my good Mr. Darcy. 

 

So pillow talk is (at least by my definition...which for the sake of this conversation, is the only one that matters) the conversation between two people at the end of the day, after both have prepared for the night and are snug under the covers. It's the conversation, either mindless or meaningful, that is truly only for the other person's ears. It can be private confessions. It can be baseless opinions. It can be words of love. 

 

Doesn't really matter. All that matters is that the other person, that one other person, is there to hear it. 

 

I know it's a common enough term. There's a movie and everything. But I distinctly remember learning the phrase from my parents. They were always a bit of a zany pair, Mom and Dad, but I often found solace in that zaniness when I was younger. It wasn't as comforting in my teenage years, but we'll just leave that topic alone. 

 

So, on nights when I couldn't sleep and Jane wasn't awake, I would scurry down the hallway to my parent's bedroom, knock lightly, and wait to be acknowledged with a gruff, "Come in, Lizzie."

 

We learned very early on to always knock.

 

I was always the curious one, so once I was safely under the sheets between my parents and snuggled securely in my mother's arms, I would ask brightly, "What did I miss?"

 

Because little Lizzie Bennet had to be involved in everything. 

 

"Just some pillow talk, dear," Mom would coo, pulling my closer and stifling a yawn. 

 

"You talk to your pillows?" I replied, befuddled. 

 

I don't know why I was so confused by the concept of talking to a pillow. At that age, I would have full conversations with rocks, flowers, and trees in the backyard on a regular basis. 

 

Let's all recall that I am the lonely middle child. 

 

Dad chuckled, but it was Mom who answered, "No, Lizzie dear. Pillow talk is when Mommy and Daddy talk to just each other."

 

"What do you talk about?"

 

"All sorts of things. Pillow talk can be about anything."

 

"I want to know!" 

 

This was a common practice of mine. Even at that age, I wanted to know everything. I didn't much take well to someone knowing something that I didn't.

 

I know. I've matured so much. 

 

"Lizzie, pillow talk is top secret. No one else can know what was said between those two people. It's the rule."

 

"It's the rule?"

 

"I'm afraid so."

 

I was always a stickler for rules. 

 

"But someday, my Lizzie," my mother continued, "you will have your own pillow talk with someone special. And you'll understand what I mean."

 

So here I am, over twenty years later, snuggled into a very different pair of comforting arms, listening to my husband recount the trials and endeavors of his day. 

 

It feels so natural now, but I will always remember the evening I discovered William's affinity for the nightly ritual. It wasn't the first time I had slept over at his apartment; it was however the first time I had slept over with the intention to only sleep. We'd both had the most trying of days and were in no shape or mood to do anything intimate or romantic. Our relationship, long past the point of trading apartment keys, didn't _need_ to be intimate or romantic every moment we were together, so after ordering in Chinese and watching bad weeknight television in a comfortable silence, we found our way to the bedroom. 

 

I had every intention of falling asleep the minute my head hit the pillow. I remember distinctly being so comfortable underneath the sheets, my eyes closed, when a deep voice fluttered softly from the other side of the bed, "What do you think it would be like to live in another time period?"

 

It took me a minute to respond, to even move, since I could hardly comprehend that it was my boyfriend asking the question. A very random question. 

 

William Darcy was never random. 

 

"Well, I..." I began, turning to face him, my slip twisting around my waist. Lying on his side of the bed, his body shifted toward me as I readjusted myself against my pillow. One of his hands under his pillow supported his head while the other reached to rest comfortably on my waist. 

 

"I suppose it depends on the time period," I managed, still confused by his question but recovering gracefully, as always. "The 1920s would be fun."

 

"Ah, yes," he agreed, smiling comfortably. I could only just barely see his movements because of the soft trickle of light through the window shades. "But then, you have the 30s."

 

"Well, I wouldn't stick around for the 30s," I said as if it was obvious. 

 

"So, you'd just bounce around from era to era?" William asked, chuckling softly. 

 

"Well, apparently I have the technology to go back in time to any era I want. I don't see much of a need to move chronologically."

 

"That's fair."

 

There was a comfortable pause for a moment before I asked, "Is there a particular time period you are considering visiting? Since you brought it up, I can only assume that you must have access to the technology we need to make this happen."

 

He chuckled again and shook his head softly. "I know some people working on it, but no."

 

I laughed. "Of course you do."

 

He smiled, pulling me closer so that we were now directly face to face, and continued, "I think a visit to the Regency Era would be compelling for me."

 

I balked at him softly. 

 

"What?" he replied, his tone light. "I just think I would fit in there."

 

And then I considered him for a moment because he was...well, he was right, besides one very important point. 

 

"William, people of the nineteenth century had public social events back then too. Weddings, parties, and if anything, those events were _more_ important then than they are now."

 

"Yes, well that's true about any time period, I'm afraid," he smiled comfortably. "I'd just have to find someone with an outgoing temperament to bring me out of my comfort zone."

 

"Dear, I don't think I'd do terribly well in that era."

 

"Of course you would," he said dismissively. 

 

"Me? Could you really see me subscribing to not being able to work, support myself, or wear anything but long dresses?"

 

"Not quietly, no," he agreed, nodding his head slightly against the pillow, "which is why you would do well. You'd push the social norms. You'd challenge the era. It's people like you, Lizzie Bennet, who push society into accepting new ideas and evolving into the next generation. And because of that, you'd do well in every timeline."

 

And it was in that moment I realized that my boyfriend understood me better than I understood myself. And although there was nothing physical about that evening, I had never felt so truly intimate with a person. 

 

Pillow talk quickly became a common practice as well as my favorite part of the day. Although he wasn't nearly as high strung as he used to be, William, so prim and so proper, was still always the gentlemen, always the protector of decorum. Of course, he was at his most relaxed when it was just the two of us, but on those evenings when we'd share our voices in such an affectionate and carefree manner, William was...different. He'd ask the questions he'd never dare to ask in the light of day. He'd speak honestly of his opinion without fail. The edges of his face, of his strong built, were loose and open because in every sense of the phrase, it _was_  just the two of us. 

 

And no matter what happened the next day, those private thoughts and shared opinions would always be secrets to the rest of the world. As a couple, we took an odd and unexpected comfort in that. 

 

So now, as a married woman, resting comfortably in bed while William explains a dream he had about space and what would happen if the universe was no longer a vacuum, knowing that this bizarre conversation is for no one else's ears but my own, I smile contentedly. 

 

Because no one else will ever know how truly masterful William Darcy is at pillow talk. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was terribly random, but I hope you enjoyed it:)


End file.
